Linda Finlay

I am fascinated by the intimate relational journey that can take place in therapy – a journey filled with mysterious ambiguity, messiness, torment and confusion, as well as layered moments of deep, satisfying contact, touching insight and poignant transformation. 

And, of course every therapy is different. Relational therapy, at its best, is a dynamic, co-creative process shaped moment-to-moment by the specific relationship between client and therapist in their particular social/cultural contexts. “The flow of therapy should be spontaneous, forever following unanticipated riverbeds,” as Yalom (2001, p. 34) advises us. More than this, he famously notes, “We need to go even further: the therapist must strive to create a new therapy for each patient.” [italics in original].   

Relational therapists offer openness and hospitality as they connect with their clients, to enable them to feel witnessed, affirmed, resourced, empathised with and held. As they challenge their clients to grow, so too are they challenged. In particular, therapists are taxed with having to stay of stay present to clients’ stress/distress, turmoil and trauma while being asked to play mother/father/nursemaid, friend, witness, confidant, coach, or be an object to be adored or used, even battered… And, there are those special inspiring moments of connection which are as nourishing for the therapist as they are for the client.

As therapists we are often left muddling through, going with our “gut” intuition, exercising our professional judgment as best we can even when the outcome is unpredictable. The emotional labour can be intense, and sometimes costly. But it’s also a privilege and honour to do this work. We invariably learn from our clients: about mysterious intersubjective processes but also, we have the opportunity learn how to be better therapists and, ultimately, better people.

Decolonizing therapy lies at the intersection of mental health and social justice and is underscored with relational intent. Its about challenging the legacy of colonialism and associated inherited prejudices.   It’s about deconstructing any lurking Western ideologies of superiority and challenging the “colonial gaze” (i.e., any the tendency to look down upon and dehumanize the colonized – or formerly colonized – “other”). At the same time, it strives for an attitude of openness towards the indigenous knowledge and cultural practices . 

In the field of therapy, abundant research testifies to the damaging impact of arrogant, smug, knowing colonial superiority on people’s mental well-being. However, the degree to which such damage, inherited from the past as well suffered in the present, can be rectified is debatable. Even where attempts are made to infuse therapy with a decolonizing spirit, this may not eliminate all alienating practices.

At its heart, decolonizing therapy invites us to be aware of power dynamics and oppression while being reflexively aware of how our own positionality and biases can be involved. It starts by acknowledging - and challenging - the ways in which colonial bias and deeply embedded notions of cultural superiority can shape research and therapy practice. It identifies the way in which power structures can pathologize particular communities. Beyond ‘cultural competence’, this stance requires an attitude of cultural humility where the diversity of knowledge systems is recognized and therapy is approached in more collaborative ways.

That said, in my view, the decolonizing spirit does not mean unconditionally and uncritically accepting all traditional practices, rather it promotes awareness of their meaning and valuing their contribution. This recognises the limits of “cultural humility” and acceptance while emphasising “cultural openness”.

“Love is, above all, a commitment to feel, to be utterly human, to be vulnerable. In taking the leap of faith to be vulnerable, we expose ourselves to the storms of sorrow and mires of mourning.”

Hammoud, A. (2024). Rumi’s profound poetry shows us the the divine power of art to sublimate grief into love

The Guardian, Sunday, Dec 1, 2024.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/dec/02/rumis-profound-poetry-shows-us-the-the-divine-power-of-art-to-sublimate-grief-into-love

Since November 2023, an extraordinary open letter to UKCP has been circulating about their guidance regarding so-called ‘gender-critical’ views. As the debate is still unsettled, I wanted to highlight some key ideas and reflect on my position in this blog.

The New York Times (Jan 23, 2025) has an article by Christina Caron about "4 things therapists want you to know before you start therapy". Her advice is quite sensible, namely that:  1) a strong therapeutic bond is essential;  2) you might feel worse before you feel better;  3)  you have agency;  4) and that therapy is not a sign of weakness.

These are all good messages to give to prospective clients considering therapy...

Check out my latest book which has just been published by Sage.

Phenomenological analysis involves so much more than mechanically producing themes. Meanings don’t just arrive as if they were waiting to be discovered like a “pearl mollusc on the seabed.” Instead, painstaking processes are engaged of dwelling, pulling together intuitions, where themes are iteratively “shaped, polished, and systematically evidenced.” The researcher is active, “searching, resonating, creating,” until exactly the right sense, words/images present themselves (Finlay, 2021, p. 108). 

I love phenomenology precisely because of its ability to engage dialectical layers. As van Manen (2014, p. 230) says, the lifeworld needs to be shown in its “full ambiguity, irreducibility, contingency, mystery, and ultimate indeterminacy”.  The fact that phenomenologists are trying to capture inchoate intuitions of pre-reflective lifeworld experience adds to the challenge and the rewards.

No wonder it is a hard thing to teach when a novice/student is seeking containing certainty and structure!

van Manen, M. (2014). Phenomenology of Practice. Left Coast Press.

Yes, writing is difficult - particularly when we're striving to express something in a poetic phenomenological way. Its a challenging process; a trial. It can feel frustrating when one simply can't find the word, sometimes even moving towards being traumatic. And it can be utterly engrossing and seductive when we manage to 'get in the flow'.  The sensuous qualities when engaging in writing as an artform are just beautiful.  Jana Milloy expresses this well in her extraordinary poetic rendition of the 'Eros of Writing'. The poet in me is touched when I read her evocative words. Can I invite you in to be similarly touched?  

The challenge of writing phenomenologically is nicely summarised in this quotation by Maxine Sheets-Johnstone

“[W]hen one makes the familiar strange, one is thrown up against the challenge of languaging experience. One commonly does not immediately have words to describe it, but must let the experience of the strange resonate for some time, and even then, must return to it many times over to pinpoint its aspects, character, or quality in descriptively exacting ways. When we are at a loss to name something, the typically unnoticed challenge of languaging experience is directly experienced and even heightened.” (2017, pp. 13-14)

Sheets-Johnstone, M. (2017) In Praise of Phenomenology. Phenomenology & Practice, 11 (1), pp. 5-17.

I've been reflecting on the relational ethical imperative to make 'reasonable adjustments' or 'reasonable accommodations' [current buzz words] to clients when we work with them. This is about constantly (and sometimes subtly) adapting our use of self as we accommodate and respond to the needs of another. It particularly refers to the way we might change our approach or environment  in response to any special needs, say, of a person who is vulnerable or has a disability.

Phenomenological data analysis is not concerned with reporting what participants say (in interviews, for example) and imposing some categories on it. Instead, we have a potentially wondrous opportunity to be touched by, to engage, and then finally to be enriched by, a phenomenon in-depth. This can only happen when the researcher takes time to dwell, to go beyond participants’ words. The process involves tuning into intentionality (consciousness of x) in order to capture something of pre-reflective experience (i.e., the experience itself before thinking about it).  Its also about staying with the complexity, ambiguity, and shifting, refracted layers which may only be briefly glimpsed in both absence (in the silences and what remains unsaid) and in presence (what is manifest).